Part Eighty-One
The next morning when George drove into the car park, she saw that both Jo's and Yvonne's cars were already there. Fervently hoping that Jo was in a far better state than she had been yesterday, George led the way through the foyer. "I'll take you up to the public gallery," George said as they walked up the stairs. "But then I'll have to leave you to it." "I'm sure I can stay out of sight," Kay replied with a smile. "You'll see Yvonne sat in the front row, and I think Helen and Karen were planning to look in on the trial some time today." When the door of the public gallery closed behind them, Kay chose a seat near the back, with a pillar half in front of her that she could hide behind if necessary. There weren't many people there yet, but George caught sight of the two whom Yvonne had said were Barbara's stepchildren.
When George retraced her steps downstairs, she saw Yvonne coming towards her, and glancing passed her, saw Jo drinking a cup of coffee in the canteen. "You all right?" Yvonne asked when she reached her, seeing something different to usual in George's face. "Oh, I'm fine," George said a little bitterly. "I'm just about to completely obliterate someone's ego, that's all." "Are you talking about Connie Beauchamp?" Yvonne asked knowingly. "She might be completely wrong about Barbara, but she wasn't that bad." "Don't ask, Yvonne, because I can promise you that you really don't want to know." "You look like the green-eyed monster has put in an appearance," Yvonne said quietly, her face turning serious. "It's not easy keeping anything from you, is it," George said ruefully. "What happened?" Yvonne asked, smiling slightly at the veiled compliment. "Did you catch her and the judge at it in chambers?" "As usual, Yvonne, you're absolutely right," George told her bitterly. "Stupid bastard," Yvonne replied fiercely. "What the bloody hell does he think he's playing at?" "You tell me," George said dismissively. "Jo doesn't know, does she," Yvonne said, glancing over at where Jo was gathering her things together. "No, she doesn't, and I want it to stay that way. While I remember, Kay's up there, though until she's been on the stand she really isn't supposed to be, so try not to draw too much attention to her."
When Yvonne reached the public gallery, she momentarily sat down beside Kay. "Are you ready to see an exhibition of one hundred percent proof rage?" "Just how vengeful is it likely to be?" Kay replied, seeing that Yvonne knew all about the previous day's debacle. "Trust me," Yvonne said confidently. "George can verbally carve up the opposition, as skilfully as you do when they reach your slab. She isn't going to let this one go." When Helen, Karen, Cassie and Roisin arrived soon after, Yvonne's face split into a broad grin. "You two on the skive?" She said to Helen and Karen. "The thought of Sylvia making a complete tit of herself was just far too tempting," Karen replied with a smile. "She's not on till this afternoon," Yvonne filled them in. "But George probably wouldn't mind an audience for this morning." "Is she about to do something that might land her in my prison for a night or two?" Karen asked, looking slightly worried. "If that total bastard bangs her up for contempt, I'll make him regret the day he realised he had a dick," Yvonne said firmly. Exchanging a glance with Karen, Yvonne's eyes told her the whole story in an instant. "Yvonne," Put in Cassie, trying to lighten the situation. "Are you going to introduce us to your stunning companion," Which made Kay smile. As Yvonne introduced Kay to Cassie and Roisin, the gallery began to fill up. "I have to keep out of sight, because I'm really not supposed to be here," Kay said as they all moved to sit in the front row, ready for the show to begin.
When the court was once again in session and Connie had returned to the stand, George rose from her seat at the front bench, and thoughtfully strolled towards Connie. On reaching her, George simply stood and examined every inch of her. Connie was dressed all in black today, something that George privately thought was highly appropriate. "Are you intending to start any time this morning, Ms Channing?" John asked her dryly. "Just getting the quarry well within my sights, my Lord," George replied airily, though the look she gave Connie was a direct promise of the hunt to come. Connie gazed stonily back at her, unwilling to give her an inch in open court for everyone to see.
"Mrs. Beauchamp," George began, returning to stand by the front bench, leaving a necessary distance between her and her prey. "In your evidence yesterday afternoon, you stated, under oath I might add, that you did not consider any form of treatment to be a viable option for Henry Mills, when you examined him back in June of last year. Precisely why was this? Please give the court as much detail as you can." Thinking this to be a relatively normal question to begin with, Connie fixed her violet gaze on George's blue one and answered. "Henry Mills' cancer was extremely far advanced, and well within the terminal stages of its development. He had a steadily growing tumour invading his right lung, as well as secondary tumours attached to his ribs and the chest wall. The cancer had also invaded his lymphatic system, which meant that it was spreading all round his body. If I had attempted to remove the pulmonary tumour during surgery, I would have been forced to remove his entire lung, considerably impairing his breathing as his cancer inevitably became worse. I also considered, in my professional opinion, that either chemotherapy or radiotherapy, would have had only negligible results on both the primary tumour and the secondary spread of disease. Chemotherapy may have slightly reduced the primary tumour, but it would not have had any significant effect on the secondaries on the chest wall. The only option left open to Henry Mills' medical team therefore, was to provide him with palliative care and pain relief." "Yet in June 2004," George continued. "On your very first day at St. Mary's no less, you performed a radical, extremely high risk operation, all in the name of saving someone's life, which the court will accept is your daily bread so to speak. Does the name Pat Cowdry and the procedure known as the Battista mean anything to you?" Connie briefly stared at George, her eyes widening with surprise. Who in god's name had this woman been talking to? "I performed that operation," Connie replied carefully. "Because it was the only procedure that would have saved Pat Cowdry's life." "Mrs. Beauchamp," John broke in. "Would you mind explaining to the court precisely what the procedure known as the Battista actually is?" "Of course, My Lord," Connie replied sweetly, briefly glancing up at where he sat in his crimson robes. "Battista was a Brazilian heart surgeon, who developed a procedure to improve the lives of people with Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy. Pat Cowdry, whom the court may be interested to know was the single parent of a fifteen-year-old girl, was suffering from end stage heart failure, caused by Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy. With this form of Cardiomyopathy, the muscle of the heart thickens, preventing the lower chambers of the heart, the ventricles, from pumping the blood adequately. The blood that cannot circulate through the ventricles, backs up causing severe congestion of the respiratory system. All of the usual treatment options had been considered, and Pat Cowdry had been put on the heart transplant list. When I met her, a transplant was thought to realistically be her only option. When I performed Battista's procedure on her, I excised a large portion of the thickened muscle surrounding her left ventricle, making it easier for the heart to pump blood around her body. I chose to perform such a radical procedure, purely and simply because it was within my capability to do so. If there had been such a procedure at my disposal which would have saved the life of Henry Mills, I would have adopted said procedure without delay."
"Wouldn't it be more accurate to suggest," George continued, taking back the reins of her cross-examination. "That you were far more concerned, on your first day as the new Medical Director, to make a lasting impression on your new colleagues?" Connie's professional hackles rose immediately. How dare she, how dare this woman suggest that she, Connie Beauchamp, would jeopardise a patient's life all in the name of professional advancement. "I disagree," She replied firmly. "Pat Cowdry's only remaining option was the Battista. If I hadn't operated on her when I did, very likely she would have died, leaving a fifteen-year-old daughter to be cared for by the state." "Mrs. Beauchamp," George said a little coolly. "Precisely how many of these operations have you performed during your entire career?" "Six," Connie answered stonily, knowing exactly what was coming. "And how many of those patients have survived the procedure?" "Four," Connie told her with something of a sigh. "Which would therefore indicate that you are a surgeon who is prepared to take risks, and extremely high risks at that. A pity you didn't see fit to take such risks for my client's husband." "Ms Channing, please desist in belittling the witness." "I am merely attempting to make my point stick, My Lord, something that I have no doubt you were good at before your rise to the bench." There was a muttered titter from the public gallery. "I did at least know the difference between cross-examination and intimidation of a witness, Ms Channing." "My Lord, I very much doubt that this particular witness could be intimidated by anyone," George replied scathingly. "Persist in arguing with me, Ms Channing, and I will be forced to consider your behaviour as holding this court in contempt. Is my meaning clear?" "Perfectly clear, My Lord," George said almost cheerfully before returning to the attack.
"Mrs. Beauchamp," George came back to Connie. "During yesterday's testimony, you stated that you had predicted that Henry Mills would have approximately six months to live. Precisely what led you to that prediction?" "It might assist the court," Connie replied a little testily. "To explain that where terminally ill patients are concerned, nothing is precise, nothing can possibly be as exact as we would perhaps like it to be. I estimated that Henry Mills had approximately six months to live, because he was not experiencing any severe breathing difficulties, nor was he in any significant pain. His attitude was always positive, which can prolong the life of even the patients who are in their very last days. Henry Mills was still capable of performing the most basic of tasks for himself, and was being cared for at home by his wife. There was absolutely no indication that he would not go on in a similar manner for the next few months." "Might I take this opportunity to remind you of another patient of yours, a Maggie Thornton, who contracted chemo-resistant lung cancer in December 2004, and who died in January 2005. Considering that her lung cancer was at a very similar stage to that of my client's husband, why did you expect Henry Mills to live longer?" Yet again Connie's eyes widened in shock. Someone really had been talking, and the sooner she found out who it was, the sooner she could verbally rip their head off. Maggie Thornton had been Tricia's friend, whom she'd met during her treatment for breast cancer. Connie remembered the day Maggie had died, because Tricia's screaming at her to resuscitate Maggie haunted her even now. "I see that you do remember this particular patient," George said with an underlying sympathy that Connie couldn't miss. "What was so different about her, that made attempting to bring back a desperately ill patient after she had arrested, and who had been relying on Morphine to keep her sane?" "Maggie was a very close friend of one of the nurses on my ward," Connie replied quietly, wondering why George had turned gentle all of a sudden. "And whilst she did have secondary lung cancer, her case wasn't remotely similar to that of Henry Mills. Maggie's cancer was all the more progressive as a result of its being chemo-resistant. When the lung cancer was diagnosed, she was already experiencing breathing difficulties. I brought her back after she'd arrested, against the protests of my registrar, because I was quite literally begged to save her, and on that occasion I chose to bow to compassion, not to practical, medical common sense. If I had been with Henry Mills when he finally died, you can be sure that I would have done everything within my capabilities to resuscitate him if it were at all possible, including counteracting the overdose of Morphine he had received." "Given therefore that your prediction of Henry Mills life expectancy was so inaccurate, would you consider that he may in fact have actually died from natural causes?" Connie suddenly began to look tired, mentally exhausted by the wringer George was putting her through. "I cannot agree with that assertion," Connie said firmly. "There would have been signs of his severe deterioration that were not present. Yes, he may have been in a great deal of pain, hence the prescribing of the Diamorphine, but if he remained completely still, he could continue to breathe relatively easily. This is not what I would expect of a man who is about to die." "Fair enough," George conceded amicably. "But if it is, as you have previously said, virtually impossible to predict how long a person may live with terminal cancer, why are you so certain that Henry Mills died by my client's hand?" "Henry Mills would not have killed himself," Connie replied with absolute certainty. "I also can't agree that his cancer was what finally killed him. Therefore, he must have died at the hand of another, his wife being the obvious and only choice, as she was the one supposedly caring for him." Her tone was so firm, so assured, that it made Jo wince.
Kay watched on in complete fascination, seeing how George expertly tied Connie Beauchamp in knots, gradually looping the noose around her neck. Whenever she was in court, she was always taking part in the proceedings, delivering expert testimony for the prosecution. But now, today, she was watching from the sidelines, taking almost sadistic pleasure in observing the tactical manoeuvres of the profession she might have inhabited if her destiny had taken her in another direction. She could see the backs of the women in the front row, each of them listening avidly to every single word. Glancing over their heads, Kay caught a good look at the judge who was overseeing this trial, plus the one sat as the winger. So, that was the man whom George had agonised over last night. To Kay, he looked suave, sophisticated, sexy, and utterly guilty of the crime George had caught him committing yesterday afternoon.
"Mrs. Beauchamp, what did you do at the end of your very first day at St. Mary's?" For a moment or two, Connie appeared totally nonplussed. "I went home, poured a glass of wine, and put my feet up, just like any other normal human being," She answered a little caustically, not seeing the point of such a question. "Was your assignation with the consultant for general surgery quite so forgettable?" Taken completely by surprise, Connie slightly blushed. How could she forget that hour with Ric after such a difficult day? "Again, your face answers the question for you," George slightly mocked her. "Do you deny that you ended up having sex with your colleague at the end of your first day?" "No," Connie said dismissively, now realising the aim of George's shot. "Though I fail to see what relevance it bears to the circumstances of Henry Mills' death." "She has a point, Ms Channing," John put in stonily. "So please get on with it." George ignored him. "Would you also deny, that during your time at St. Mary's, you have, as a married woman, engaged in several sexual assignations with numerous consultants and registrars?" Connie's anger began to build. How dared this woman try to make her look like a complete whore in open court? "I don't see that as being any of the court's business," Connie replied icily. "Such a display of your true reputation," George told her with an evil smile. "Might just show the court how unprofessional you have the potential to be, wouldn't you say?" "My private life has no bearing whatsoever on this case," Connie threw back, her rising fury now evident for all to see. George laughed. "Hardly private if the entire hospital is aware of the favours you will accord up and coming registrars who require either a leg up or a leg over." There was a very female roar of laughter from the public gallery. "Would it not be fair to suggest, that your interest in furthering relations with your colleagues, may on occasion distract you from your professional responsibilities?" "Ms Channing, that is enough," John thundered at her. "I have warned you twice already this morning. Do that again and I will have you removed." "Why, My Lord," George replied with sheer recklessness. "Are you trying to suggest, that the higher echelons of a profession don't have highly suspect relationships with either their colleagues or members of the public, and that they don't in fact make a total mockery of the rules and regulations that govern such practices?" John stared stonily back at her. She was pushing him, he could feel it, just daring him to bang her up as he had threatened. He knew only too well that if he did, if he gave into his inclination to slap her in a cell, she would pour out all her anger and bitterness about what he had done to literally anyone who would listen. There was a long, highly charged silence. "Do you have any further questions, Ms Channing?" John asked quietly, though with a ton of hidden meaning behind his backing down. "With your permission, My Lord, I have four," George replied in the same polite tone, as though none of their momentary slanging match had ever taken place. "Mrs. Beauchamp," She said, turning back to Connie, and feeling her pulse racing with the after effects of the rage that had just swept through her. "If, as you say, you only spent minimal time with Henry Mills and his wife, during his diagnosis and the discussion of his lack of treatment options, how can you possibly make an accurate assessment of either his or my client's character?" "Ms Channing," Connie replied dismissively. "I have spent the last twenty years dealing with people and their problems, something that I feel gives me more than adequate experience for making such an assessment, even as in this case, in a very short time."
"Whilst taking your vast experience with patients into account, how can you be so certain that my client is guilty?" "I have come across many suicidal patients in my time," Connie said quietly but with a firmness in her tone that belied her sombre expression. "And I can assure you, that Henry Mills was not one of them. Not once during the time I spent with him, did he display the type of negative disinterest I would normally associate with a possibly suicidal patient. Henry Mills would not have killed himself, which I believe makes your client as guilty as you appear to think I am of unprofessional conduct." Ignoring this jibe, George asked, "Have you ever encountered a suicidal patient who, on initial inspection, did not reveal such an inclination?" "Of course I have," Connie replied without thinking. "Patients don't fit into a particular mould. They are people, just like you and me, all capable of doing what you don't expect of them." "Would you therefore concede," George said extremely carefully. "That you may have been wrong to believe so unerringly in my client's guilt?" Realising the trap that she had just fallen into, Connie remained quiet. "Is it not possible," George cajoled her, seeing the belief beginning to crack. "That Henry Mills could only have decided on his way out of his illness, long after you saw him, long after you decided that his positive attitude would remain within until the end? Isn't it just within the bounds of realistic belief, to accept that he may eventually have come to see that injecting himself with Diamorphine was the only suitable end to his unending pain?" When Connie's shoulders ever so slightly slumped, George knew that her prey was caught. "Yes," Connie said quietly, though loud enough for the court to hear. "I would give it very long odds, but there were three months between when I last saw Henry and when he died." "Thank you," George told her, meaning every syllable with all her heart.
When court adjourned for lunch, George felt as though every shred of her energy had deserted her. Making her way immediately outside, she was relieved to find that it wasn't raining. Sitting down on one of the benches that weren't often frequented at this time of year, she lit a cigarette. She had almost lost it back there, feeling a sudden urge to tear John limb from limb for what he'd done. But thankfully they had both managed to control their need to punish. As she sat there, she was disturbed in her musings by the arrival of someone else. Connie had walked out of court, thinking that even at this time of the day, a large scotch would probably do her the world of good. But when she saw George sitting by herself and smoking, Connie felt a need to clear the air.
When Connie sat down beside her, George gave her half a smile. "You did extremely well this morning. I was impressed." "Well," Connie replied with her own ascent to civility. "It isn't often that I get the opportunity to fight against an equal." "I should imagine that many of your staff are no contest." "No," Connie replied a little disgustedly. "Though one of them is about to be given the chance to explain themselves." "You want to know who's been talking?" George said, realising that this was the point of Connie's approaching her. "I expect I have no right to ask," Connie replied digging out her own packet of cigarettes. "That isn't a habit I would expect to see in a heart surgeon," George commented in surprise. "And I wouldn't expect a silk to risk being put on remand for contempt," Connie countered back with a shrug. "But there you are." "Touché," George conceded dryly. Then, after taking another long drag, she said, "If I do tell you from whom I acquired several very interesting facts about you, not all of which I used this morning, I shall expect you to do something for me." "I wouldn't expect any different from you, Ms Channing," Connie replied coolly. "Obtain cover for yourself on Thursday, and be in the public gallery to hear Barbara's testimony, which I should imagine will take all day. Only then will you be able to see how wrong you were." If Connie was honest with herself, she might have known that this would be the name of the bargain. Taking a thoughtful drag of her cigarette, Connie conceded to herself that it was the least she could do. "Okay," She said eventually. "You have a deal." Ditching her cigarette end into the ornamental fountain, George said, "Will Curtis was very forthcoming about you, almost tripped over his words in his haste to blacken your reputation." Connie's face had hardened at the first syllable of Will's name. The treacherous little worm! "I see that he'll be duly punished for his indiscretions," George added with a slight smirk. "You're bloody right he will," Connie said icily. "I'll put him on cadaver practice for a month for this." "I suppose I ought to feel sorry for him," George replied with a smile. Then, after a short silence, Connie asked, "George, apart from the obvious, what did I do?" By these words, and the slightly hesitant tone in which they were uttered, George knew that Connie was referring to what had happened the day before. Connie clearly wanted an explanation of the rage George had displayed that morning, something she wouldn't usually bother to enquire for. "Connie, you didn't just help John to betray one woman, but two, the other of which is not currently in an emotionally stable enough position to deal with it. I accept that you knew nothing of the sort, but in cross-examining you this morning, it was far too easy to throw my anger at you than it will be at John. It's not something I'm especially proud of, but I expect you might have done the same." "Yes," Connie agreed amicably. "I have done, on numerous occasions, especially when my husband's infidelity leads him to become acquainted with my staff." "Is that why you also make a similar acquaintance with various registrars?" "They occasionally provide a delightful distraction at the end of a difficult day," Connie admitted with a smile, feeling no shame at what she did on a regular basis. After another thoughtful silence, Connie asked, "Does he know about your lump?" Immediately George's expression became closed, as though she was inwardly struggling to keep her feelings hidden. She wished with all her heart that Connie didn't know about this. "No, he doesn't," She said a little coldly. "And at least until this trial is over, that's the way it needs to stay." "George, you really can't go on ignoring it the way you have been," Connie told her gently but firmly. "I know how frightening it must be..." "No, you have absolutely no idea," George interrupted vehemently. "Do you seriously think I've learnt nothing during my years in the medical profession?" Connie demanded just as vehemently. "Learning a thing and actually feeling it are two very different things," George assured her bitterly. "George, I can't make you take any possible outcome seriously, but I urge you to do something about it as soon as possible." "Don't you think I've thought about every possible outcome?" George demanded, the rising fear bringing tears to her eyes. "Every minute of every day that isn't spent thinking about something else, is haunted by what they may eventually have to do to me." "The longer you leave it, the worse it will be," Connie told her persuasively. George was about to reply, when she saw Kay walking towards them. Forcing her cheerful mask to slip back into place, she greeted Kay as she walked up to the bench where they were sitting.
As Kay had walked towards where George and Connie were talking, she had seen that brief look of terrified anguish on George's face, and couldn't help wondering what they had been discussing. "That was some performance," Kay said when she reached them, digging out her own cigarettes as she did. "It felt to me like a twelve hour operation spent in the spotlight," Connie said ruefully. "You're working with Professor Khan's medical students, aren't you?" Connie asked. "Yes," Kay replied amicably. "I think I'm shattering all their illusions before they even start." "Which won't do them any harm in the slightest," Connie said firmly. "Would you like a lift back to the hospital, or are you staying for this afternoon?" "I have a lecture to give this afternoon," Kay told her. "So a lift would be much appreciated." As they got up to go, Kay briefly rested a hand on George's shoulder. "I'll see you later," She said kindly, thinking that George looked utterly exhausted. "Thank you for being here this morning," George said to her. As she watched Kay and Connie walk towards a silver-grey Jaguar, she saw the other occupants of the public gallery coming out for their own nicotine fix. Walking over to the group of five women, she said, "I didn't know you were all here." "I wouldn't have missed that for the world," Helen told her, wondering what the Judge had been up to, to bring about such a display of fury in George. "You sailed a bit close to the edge there," Karen told her fondly. "I almost expected to have to take you back to Larkhall with me." "He wouldn't have dared," Yvonne said with total assuredness. "He'd have had us to answer to if he had."